Make Me Forget
by JWAB
Summary: What if those two scenes we saw aren't the only ones Damon compelled Elena to forget?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: After 3x19, Damon mostly stayed away from Elena on screen. It was as if something had happened between them – something we didn't see…_

_Many thanks to CreepingMuse and RomanticVoltaire for beta-ing this story and helping me keep Elena and Damon fully recognizable as the characters we love. You ladies are marvelous!_

**Make Me Forget**

It was such a terrible idea. _Such_ a terrible idea. So why couldn't she stop thinking about it?

More than anything, Elena wanted to prove that Stefan was wrong about this. He _was_ wrong. Elena refused to believe that she had feelings for Damon. Yes, she found herself gazing at his (soft, inviting) lips when he stood too close to her. Yes, her heart clenched like a fist when he moved toward her. Yes, she might have dreamt of him once or twice and there might have been times that she imagined her hand was Damon's. But that was lust. It was just her dumb body finding his dumb body irresistible. It was simple, animal attraction. Not _feelings_.

Of course she cared about Damon. She would be the first to admit they had a special relationship, but she didn't love him. She loved Stefan.

She shouldn't have kissed Damon in Denver (despite how good – _stop it_). Giving in to that part of herself was so unlike her. She had self-control. With her life, she needed it. She was glad to be the rock on whom everyone could depend. She was loyal and willing to make sacrifices to protect her loved ones. Above all, she would never hurt someone she cared about. She would never hurt Damon.

Which is why she couldn't even entertain this idea.

There had to be a way, a _different_ way, to stop the reactions her dumb body had to him - reactions even Stefan had begun to notice. Damon noticed too, of course. Every time she trembled when he gave her that flirty little look (dripping with sex, Rose was right), she knew it _seemed_ like she was leading him on. She hated hurting him. But she couldn't stop.

Maybe she just needed some sleep.

* * *

Four hours lying in bed staring at the ceiling can make a terrible idea look less terrible.

She knew it could work because it had before, inadvertently, heartbreakingly, with Matt. Until their first time, her breath had wavered when he was nearby, her heart had clenched at the sight of him, her cheeks had flushed when he touched her. But after they had sex that first time, it was as if her body didn't recognize him anymore. Her attraction was abruptly gone and she couldn't get it back. It was only a matter of time and courage before she would have to break up with him. She hadn't meant for it to happen that way, but she was just done. Cured.

That was exactly what she needed with Damon: a cure. She needed to scratch this itch so she could stop leading him on and stop misleading Stefan. She needed finally to get Damon out of her system. But the thought of remembering it every time she saw him made her stomach lurch with anxiety. By Stefan's side, she would never be able to escape Damon. He would be a constant reminder of her guilt, her indiscretion.

Unless she didn't remember it afterward. Despite her general distaste for compulsion, when it was done for someone's benefit it seemed categorically different to her. Less morally complicated. She could ask Damon to compel her to forget.

It really felt like the only solution and, even though it was an insane idea, she couldn't get it out of her head. It was everything she could do not to go over there right now.

Ironically, if the situation were reversed, if Stefan was the one she couldn't stop fantasizing about, he would agree to her terrible plan in a heartbeat. He always gave her anything she asked for, even if it was crazy. But not Damon. He didn't let her make these kinds of mistakes. He protected her, even from herself. He was her safety valve, her escape hatch.

Perfect. Of course.

Damon would never let her go through with it. She would go over there and propose this terrible idea and he would shut her down immediately, for her own good. And that way she could finally stop considering it. He would save her, like he always did. Or, if nothing else, he would at least provide her with that sabotage she had come to rely on.

She threw some clothes on. Stefan had taken to hunting at night – he wouldn't be at the boarding house till dawn. No time like the present to stop being insane.

* * *

Damon answered the door shirtless as if to taunt her, as if he had expected her. Amber bourbon sloshed in his crystal glass. "Elena," he announced to the empty house, a little drunk. "What do you want?"

Elena brushed past him, shivering with the momentary thrill of his (warm, smooth) skin so tantalizingly close. "I need your help."

"Bumpless Damon, at your service," he drawled.

She squinted into the dark room, desperately doubting he could resist that familiar, frustrating bump. Still, she was shaking like a racehorse at the gate. She steeled herself against her body's anticipation, certain it wouldn't amount to anything. She was just here to ask and get shot down. That was all. "Damon," she began faintly, "I love Stefan."

"Oh. Glad we cleared that up." He downed his drink in one mouthful and turned away to pour himself another.

"Stefan is getting better now – I know you see it, too – and he needs me. He loves me."

"Why are you telling me this?"

She was glad he wasn't looking at her. It would make the request easier. "You know that I want you. I hate that I do, but I do." He set the bottle down, his glass still empty. "I need to choose Stefan – I'm going to choose Stefan – but I cannot stop wanting you no matter how much I try. No matter what I do. When I'm near you I can't think. My body just wants you and I can't control it."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" he breathed.

She swallowed. It was okay to ask because he would say no. "I want you to have sex with me and then I want you to make me forget it."

He sighed, shaking his head slowly, heavily. "Why don't you just take care of it the old fashioned way like the rest of us?"

She barked an angry laugh, the full weight of her burden crashing in on her. "Don't you think I've tried? I have tried everything – everything, Damon! I'm possessed, like it doesn't matter what I think or want or decide, my body has its own agenda, and it's you. All you. The way you move, the way your lips feel, the way you look at me -"

Before she realized it, Damon had pressed her up against the wall, his breath hot on her face. "The way_ I_ look at _you_?"

Her heart pounded outward against his chest. "I know what I'm asking." She couldn't stop looking at his lips, imagining them parting against hers. Any second now, he would say no and this would be over.

"You really don't." He was holding back, but Elena was sure she'd be climbing into her car in less than a minute. "Are you sure your little plan is even going to work? You're only going to forget being with me tonight, not how you feel."

"But I won't have this need for you anymore. I'll get you out of my system. It'll work." It was futile to argue the merits. Come on Damon, she thought, turn me down. "I think I could put all of this – put _you_ – behind me if I could just satisfy these urges. They're so… insistent," she groaned as she felt him grind his hips slowly against hers.

"You want me behind you?" he asked, his low voice drenched with double-entendre.

"Y-y-yes." Now would be the perfect opportunity, she registered weakly, for Damon to do something infuriating.

He was a hair's breadth from her mouth and her entire body screamed for him. She balled her fingers into fists to keep them from sliding up his naked chest. "This is a terrible idea," he rasped, skimming his cheek against hers and grazing her ear with his lips.

She breathed in the leftover scent of leather on his neck and tasted his warm skin with her trembling tongue. "I have to, Damon. Unless you refuse."

He captured her earlobe between his teeth and she whimpered at the rush of his breath in her ear. He found her thigh with his right hand, clawed up along its length to her hip, then inside her waistband to grip her ass, to press her against him harder. Her breath was ragged. She needed his lips.

With his left hand, he unclasped her bra and slipped his hand around to tweak her nipple, pinching it past simple pleasure to something tinged with pain. Her hands explored his body without her permission, enjoying all the places her eyes had once lingered too long: the angle of his hipbone, the slope of his ribs, the soft skin along his spine.

He still hadn't kissed her mouth. His lips and teeth had made slow, devastating work of her neck, leaving her so weak-kneed she had to rely on the wall behind her to keep her up. But she needed his lips on hers, she needed that connection. She pulled his head from its descent between her breasts to bring it to her lips but he stopped short, gazing a moment at her open mouth before burying his face in the tender skin along her collarbone.

The deprivation drove her further. Her fingers were fearless, covering his undulating muscles as he ground against her, then sliding in front to grasp his erection. She grimaced internally at how similar it was to Stefan's. But that was where the similarity ended. Where Stefan was careful with her, even polite, Damon was invasive, pushing her, tempting her.

She glanced up at his face and her heart broke a little as their eyes met. His agony was plain to see. Agony she was causing, because he loved her and this was what he had wanted and he was giving it to her so that she could be done with him. The silent acknowledgment of what this cost him passed between them. Her head began to tilt and she took a breath, ready to tell him to stop, that it wasn't fair, that she was so sorry to have hurt him like this.

But he wasn't going to let her off that easy.

In a heartbeat they were beside the couch. His practiced hands whisked off their clothes and she felt the point of no return fly past. He wasn't going to stop her. There was no escape hatch but her own will, and it was no match for her heart-pounding, mind-numbing need.

Before she could offer even a hollow whimper of protest, he had flipped her around. He clutched her against him with one strong hand, his mouth searching for the most sensitive spot under her ear, while his other hand tugged at her thigh, pulling her legs apart just enough to slide an insistent finger inside her from behind. Slowly he eased them onto their knees, his teeth and tongue at play on her neck and shoulder. She could feel him hard against her, wanted more, wanted him deeper. She arched her back, leaned back onto his hand, circled her hips to encourage him. He didn't need it. He slipped his finger out and in one swift thrust plunged himself into her, pounding her with a punishing rhythm. It was exactly what she needed; she met him thrust for thrust. His hands cupped her breasts, his body pressing her forward so that she had to brace herself against the couch cushions. She thought she would explode. She wanted to explode.

It would have been safer had they finished like that, all animal lust. But their rhythm slowed, became less about thrust and more about the sensuality of in and out. He softly caressed the length of her back, sucked at her earlobe, tenderly stroked her cheek. He showed her how good it could feel – how good _they_ could feel. It was more than the overwhelming swirl of sensation in those last minutes. And when she came, his fingers winding slow, unrelenting rings around her button even as he moved inside her, she was glad he couldn't see her face.

* * *

Her breath was finally slow and calm. Her heart's suffocating clench was gone. It had worked, she could tell. Her body was finally satisfied. She lay beside him, her head cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, so content that the change in Damon took her by surprise.

"Elena, please don't ask me to do this," he whispered into her hair.

"A little late, don't you think?" she protested.

"No," he said. "Don't ask me to make you forget."

She boosted herself onto an elbow. "But that was the whole point."

His face darkened with a rueful grin. "You have this all figured out, don't you? Now that you're all well-fucked and done with _us_, you definitely won't find yourself here tomorrow night, me answering the door conveniently shirtless and drunk." He sat up and yanked his pants on.

"Damon, this wasn't about any kind of us, and now I can finally stop hurting you by reacting to you as if there were. Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

His blue eyes glistened with pain and firelight. "Think about it. How can you be sure this was the first time? You seemed to know your way around me pretty well."

Elena stared at him, her heart sinking. "I would know." But he was right: she couldn't possibly be sure.

He calmly returned her stare. "Of course you'd know. Now get dressed. My compulsion won't be very convincing if you wake up naked in my living room."

She couldn't speak while she got dressed. Desire was tightening around her heart again. The sight of him buckling his belt (so temptingly low across his hips) sent a shiver over her skin. The calming effect she had planned on had lasted less than five minutes. He wasn't even remotely out of her system. What did that mean? Was Stefan right after all?

She shrugged her jacket on. What had she done? She had to face the possibility that if her body was still this insistent, maybe it wasn't just her body that wanted him. Maybe she did have feelings for him. Maybe – but she knew that she did. Of course she knew. This whole terrible plan had been an elaborate rationalization to satisfy her confused, longing heart. How cruel of her to pretend it had been anything else. Not anymore, she told herself: she would beg his forgiveness, ask him not to compel her, and handle this like the strong young woman she knew herself to be. Damn the consequences.

But suddenly Damon was in front of her, his eyes sad but commanding. "You came over to talk about Stefan. Nothing happened."

Elena blinked, waved, and left.


	2. Chapter 2: The First Night

_(A/N: Many thanks to all who leaped on board with me after just one chapter! And yes, there's more to come...)  
_

Don't judge me. I know what I did. But a man can only take so much, and when she came back the second night I was fresh out of willpower.

I honestly thought that first night would be it. Call me naïve, call it wishful thinking. Call me an idiot – I have been, all day. But I'm a vampire, dammit. Not Superman.

That first night Elena came over, all seriousness and end-of-the-world angst, she wanted to talk about Stefan. And apologize for kissing me. Well, apologize to herself, with me there to witness, I guess. Because as far as I'm concerned, what she really needed to apologize for was having a brother with shitty timing.

She plopped down right in the middle of the couch, looking so vulnerable and guilt-ridden, and said, "I can't stop thinking about Denver." In that moment, it actually didn't occur to me – what with those signals (you know what I'm talking about) – that she regretted it. Hope springs eternal, I guess. "Stefan may think he wants me to explore whatever there is between us, but he doesn't. Not really. I fooled myself into thinking it was okay to kiss you."

She didn't say she didn't want to, she said it wasn't okay. Just saying. Still, I scrambled to throw some walls up because this was going to be one of _those_ talks.

"I'm so sorry," she continued. "I didn't intend to mislead you or to cheat on Stefan."

"Last I checked, you're not with him," I countered – you know, for a little perspective.

"I'll always be with him in my heart, Damon."

Ouch.

I must not have hidden my reaction as well as I thought, because she backpedaled a little. "I care about you, you know I do. We have a connection that means something to me. But I lost control in Denver and my mistake hurt you."

And I couldn't help but argue with her. "Come on, Elena. I was there. You wanted me. You still do. You should think about what that means."

She just closed her eyes, like somehow not seeing me could make her unhear what I'd said. And then she just went right on like I hadn't said it. "I never meant to cause you any pain," she insisted.

But denial works both ways, and she'd already stung me once. "The only pain that kiss caused me was blue balls, darlin'." I knew it was harsh. She was obviously hurt. Damn. (But let me just say that, for a world-class heartbreaker, she has a very thin skin.) Anyway, I caved. It's hard not to cave with her. "Fine. Yeah. It was awful to get a glimpse of what I was missing. But I'm a big boy. I'll get over it." Please note that I was trying to make her feel better while she was breaking up with me. Or something like that.

"I know you will," she said, smiling through tears with those sparkling doe eyes. She was so relieved. But about what? Me getting over it? Nope, I still think it was more about me admitting that I was hurt. Whatever else she feels or says, she loves that I love her.

"So you don't have to worry about me," I assured her and I should have stopped there. I should have sent her on her merry little way. Then we would not be having this conversation. But no, I had to open my big mouth. "Just to be safe, it would probably be a good idea not to come over here anymore when Stefan's not around. To stop tempting fate. And me."

And there they were again, her vulnerability and guilt, right on the surface. "I know. I'm so sorry. I just -"

"It's okay, Elena," I told her, trying to stop her from beating herself up. Because she is a champion at that and I just wanted her not to feel so bad.

The point is, that night this girl was a house of cards. Honestly, I just reached out to thread a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. And then she breathed my name and I stopped short, because the sound of my whispered name on her lips is hard-wired to my dick, and in that frozen moment, she kissed me. Again. And it was like we hadn't just had this whole conversation about not wanting to hurt me and it always being Stefan.

Her lips were soft and warm and very interested in mine, which was perfect because all I wanted was to taste her. I wound my fingers in her hair and let her paw at my shoulders and arms. I knew she wanted me to press her back onto the couch and let her wrap her legs around me but I do not make out on couches like a sweaty sixteen year old. So I resisted her tugging at me and it drove her a little crazy. She started to kiss along my jaw and unbutton my shirt and my eyes were wide with surprise, I'm sure, when she stopped to gaze at them. And then she kissed me like we were both about to die. There should have been an orchestra swelling under that kiss.

I remember registering a twinge of pity for Stefan, because her passion for me was painfully clear. But then she pulled away and looked into my eyes and her expression melted into self-loathing and horror and she started to panic.

"Oh no, what am I doing? This is wrong. I shouldn't be here. I can't do this," she protested.

Suddenly her lips were on mine again, fevered and desperate. I didn't listen to a word out of her mouth but I heard everything her lips were telling me. I let it go on longer than I should have because I wasn't thinking, I was just hoping and wanting and she honestly wouldn't stop.

And then I felt something wet on my cheek and I realized it was her tear. God, she was crying and kissing me at the same time.

"Stop, Elena, stop," I whispered, holding her head in my hands. She shook it back and forth weakly. "What's wrong? Tell me."

And then she proceeded to lose it.

Choking back more tears, she said, "kissing you is – it's just too much." She wiped away a tear and it was immediately replaced by two more. "Wanting you is hard enough, and I do, obviously I do, but kissing you torments me. It makes me question my feelings for Stefan and I'm not ready to face that. I hate myself for cheating on him and for compulsively hurting you. But I can't make myself stop." The way her voice broke when she referred to me – talk about too much. "You've been a rock for me while Stefan was gone. You've taken care of me, and protected me, and taught me to protect myself." Yeah, I know it sounds like I'm making this up, but I'm not. "You pushed your love for me aside and, I know, the essence of who you are as a vampire too when I asked, so you could be the man I needed you to be." Never thought I'd hear her acknowledge that. "I'm worried, Damon. I'm terrified that I'm falling for you." Her voice cracked again, her ridiculous doe eyes glistened, and I just sat there for a second, stunned.

Let's take a moment to appreciate that her little speech amounted to an admission of those feelings that I knew were there – I _knew_ it. But that tiny droplet of joy was overshadowed by an enormous wave of self-loathing for causing her any hurt at all. Whatever her big, sloppy feelings were, they were torturing her. And I couldn't take it. But it occurred to me suddenly that I could fix it. Fix her.

"Elena, look at me." And then I did it, on the spur of the fucking moment, because I am a masochist and the biggest sap that ever lived when it comes to this girl. "What you feel for me right now is lust, Elena, not love. Forget what happened tonight. You didn't kiss me. You came over to talk about Stefan."

For about twenty seconds, it was worth it. Her face was serene, grateful even. The pain was gone and I felt fantastic because I had done that for her. I sent her home actually feeling better.

Problem solved, right? I made this magnanimous fucking gesture. I exercised herculean restraint. I compelled away the memory of her transgression, her feelings for me, and the need for any follow-up. I even left an out for the future with that "right now" bit. I would avoid her for a few days and let little brother swoop in. Once again I had paved the way for Stefan Golden-Boy Salvatore to be the hero. I thought I deserved the Nobel Prize for Brotherhood.

Fucking loopholes.


	3. Chapter 3: The Loophole

_A/N: Many thanks to all my readers, but a super giant gift basket of puppies to CreepingMuse, who helps me see things I miss at first. _

Elena was on her way to drop some books off at the library when she found herself standing at his – their – door. Damon opened it before she even knocked. He seemed preoccupied as he shrugged his leather jacket on. When he saw Elena he froze, as if he'd been caught.

"Where are you going?" she asked, a bit surprised.

"Out. Busy. Important." His jaw was set even more squarely than usual.

"Can I talk to you? It'll just take a minute." She slid past him into the living room.

"Right," he muttered after her sarcastically.

Elena sat down in the middle of the couch. "I want to apologize."

"Nope. Leaving."

"I know you must be mad at me for what happened – how I treated you – in Denver. At the time I didn't think about how it would appear to you, but I should have. And then coming over two nights in a row just to talk about Stefan and not even mentioning what happened between us? You should hate me."

He shut the door, joining her in the living room but giving her a wide berth. "Yup." He hovered by the fireplace, studying the cold hearth like he was trying to memorize it.

"It was – I was insensitive. Tonight, I want to talk about us."

Damon's voice was quiet. "There is no us."

"Yes there is! We have something. I feel it. I just don't know what it is."

He was silent.

"It confuses me." She took a breath. "You confuse me."

She watched his jaw clench, but he didn't say a word.

"Is this other thing so important that you can't have an actual conversation with me for five minutes?"

He looked anywhere but at her. "These conversations get out of hand."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Fine, Elena. I accept your apology. We have some significant, undefined, _platonic_ us-ness. Are we done?"

He finally glanced at her and behind his eyes the fear was unmistakable. It stabbed her like a sword through the heart. She couldn't leave things like this. Something was wrong, something she had to fix. "No, we're not done."

"Okay then. I'm _leaving_ now, but you should call Stefan and he'll rush back from the bunny buffet. He loves this kind of thing."

"I don't want Stefan tonight. I want you."

Damon sighed. "No, you don't."

"To talk, Damon. Just to talk."

"Remember the part where I'm busy and leaving?"

"What is so damn important that you're willing to leave me when I need you?"

He cleared his throat in a thinly veiled attempt to redirect his frustration. "Elena, there is nothing I can do for you that Stefan can't. He's your officer _and_ your gentleman. Bother him."

That stung. "I'm bothering you?"

Damon's resolve began to wilt before her eyes. "No. You're not. But I'm not going to have this conversation with you right now."

"Why? Are you seeing someone?"

He let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "I wish."

Elena looked down, unsatisfied. "Look, the last two nights I've come over because I wanted something. I don't know." Damon was glaring at her when she glanced up at him. She forced herself to continue. "You. I needed to be with you. But I've been too much of a coward, I guess, or you've pushed me away before I could talk to you about it. I can't even remember why I didn't bring it up. But I feel like there's something I need from you and I keep not getting it."

"Go home, Elena."

"What is it? Why are you being like this?"

"Please go home."

"Damon, what is going on with you?"

He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Damon slid his hand along the mantle, composing himself, deciding something. What was he hiding? He shifted on his feet and a mischievous smile began to play at the edge of his lips. "Last night we fucked on that couch."

Like a reflex, she sprang up off of it. "We did not!"

"No, you're right, it was really more up against it. From behind, you naughty thing."

Shock and indignation jockeyed for position inside her head. "That's impossible! I would remember."

"And it was your idea." He fixed her with a cool stare.

She wanted to tell him to fuck off, to grow up. Her open palm itched to slap him, but she gritted her teeth and let him speak. Because something about what he was saying rang strangely true.

"You want more? The night before last, you came over and we picked up where we left off in Denver."

"You're making this up," she seethed.

"No, I'm not," he said evenly. His face was a mask of infuriating calm. "You don't remember because I made you forget."

She gasped, enraged. "What? No! Damon, how could you do that to me? I trusted you! What kind of a person are you? How could you invade my mind – for sex? And then you made me forget it? I can't believe I had sex with you and I don't even remember it."

"I could give you a play by play if you like."

"Fuck you! I mean, I knew you were a monster. But I never thought… I never thought you'd do something like this to me, that you'd use me, my confusion, the way I feel about you – why? Why, Damon?"

Her vulnerability seemed to disarm him. He squinted at her, too uncertain to respond right away. "Well, the first night, you were sad."

"Sad? _That's_ your reason? You're a psychopath!" She clenched and stretched her hand, waffling between a punch and slap.

"In my defense, you were really, _really_ sad." She wished she was strong enough to punch him and make it actually hurt. "And last night, you actually asked me to."

There it was, she thought, the crack in his story. She laughed at him, a loud, bitter sound. "Liar. I would never ask you to compel me."

He shrugged innocently, a twinkle in his eye. "But you did, Princess Amnesia."

She couldn't bear to look at him. She turned away, trying to reject what he was telling her, unable to shut out the part of her that sensed it was all true. She felt a strain in the back of her throat and knew the tears were on their way. She felt exploited, betrayed, exposed. It was all too much. When she finally spoke again, her voice was trembling and small. "We made love, you and me, and you made me forget it. But you remember."

He tried to catch her eye but couldn't. "I do."

"Was it…? No, I don't care."

"Elena," he whispered, and something about her name in the tenderness of his voice lit her body on fire. The involuntary reaction inside her hinted at confirmation of Damon's whole story, and a sob broke free from deep in her chest. She reminded herself to be angry, not upset. She had plenty to be angry about. "I wanted to protect you," he explained, "from me, from yourself, from whatever you feel about this, about… us." He spoke that last word like uttering it made him bleed.

She lashed out. "Well, Einstein, did it ever occur to you that if I can't remember us, there can't _be_ an us?"

Her anger didn't touch him. He took her shoulders in a gentle, firm hold. "That first night, Elena, you kissed me and then you fell apart. You were hysterical, panicking about what this would do to Stefan and how you couldn't stop hurting me. I couldn't let you go on feeling like that." He sighed, looking over her head across the room. "I should have compelled you not to come back."

She ripped herself from his grasp. "You should have compelled me to stop having feelings for you."

"I thought I did," he rasped after her, for another split second unable to hide his pain.

"Well, you must have screwed up, because here I am – again, I guess. I didn't even realize I was driving over here. So what happened?"

He held his breath. "Just slap me now before I tell you and we can get it over with, because you are not going to like it."

"Don't be so dramatic," she spat.

He pursed his lips for a moment. "I've seen people find a way around compulsion for only one reason. When Mikael's hand was wrapped around my heart, Stefan saved my life by figuring out how to bend Klaus's compulsion." Elena cringed slightly at the mention of Stefan. "Love, Elena. Love is the only loophole."

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as she collapsed on the couch. She couldn't think. It couldn't be true. "No, I would know. If I loved you, I would know." Her voice was hollow. Her entire self felt hollow.

"I think some part of you already does. I was there, Elena." Damon swept a few loose hairs from her forehead, threading them behind her ear. She closed her eyes, savoring in spite of herself the sensation of his skin on hers again, the reverence with which he handled her hair. It would be so easy, so natural, to open her lips against his, to let him gather her up in his arms, to wind her fingers in his silky black hair. If she was really honest with herself, she had to admit she wanted him. But love? She depended on him, was grateful for him, anticipated the next time she'd see him – but at the same time he infuriated her, disappointed her, pushed her. Was that love? Could she love him? _Should_ she?

She opened her eyes and there it was in his expression, unguarded and tremulous. He loved her. And because he loved her, he had sacrificed the beginning of something real between them to spare her from this thing she feared. The realization made her heart ache. She knew what this must have cost him, to finally have and then so quickly lose the object of his affection.

Her poor Damon. More than anything, she wanted to take away his pain and leave him whole, perfect, unscathed. She wanted to protect him from his despair and give him what he most desired. She wanted to give _herself_ to him.

Because she loved him.

The revelation sent her trembling fingers fluttering up to her lips. "Oh my God, it's true."

He nodded soberly, sadly, no trace of the cocky, arrogant rogue.

She traced the side of his face, gazing with dawning wonder into his eyes, and then pulled him toward her lips.

"No, Elena, please don't. I can't."

"But I –"

He pressed his finger to her mouth. "Wait. It's not that simple."

"Of course it is."

"What about Stefan?"

Elena wanted to answer with something defiant and hopeful but the mention of his name took the wind out of her sails. "I don't know." Her head began to shake back and forth, almost on its own, at the thought of leaving Stefan. "What am I supposed to do? No matter how much I love you – and I do, Damon, I do – I still love him, too." Damon's sweet, stunned surprise at her garbled admission of love was too much for her. She closed her eyes. "I'm horrible."

"No -"

"This is tearing you apart, and me. I can't stop this. Even compulsion can't stop it. And it's going to wreck everything Stefan has done to come back, it will break his heart. I can't leave him, Damon. I don't _want_ to leave him. But what am I supposed to do? The two of you, in that house – oh my God. It's just horrible. And Jeremy, I have to be strong for Jeremy – who you killed! And what would this do to Bonnie? You killed her mother, Damon! And Caroline, what you did to her – my God, and Ric! I know how they'll look at me, how they'll hate me! I hate _myself_! Damon, what am I supposed to do?"

He took a long, deep breath. "You're supposed to wait."

She knew he was wrong, despite everything she had just said. "Wait? When I've just finally figured out how I feel? When you've already sacrificed so much? Absolutely not."

Damon stole a glimpse at her lips – she realized she had been staring at his as well, even in the midst of her tirade – and then his blue eyes captured hers, full of gentle compassion. "You're not ready for us – not yet. Look at you: you're panicking at the _idea_ of loving me. Not a good sign." He brushed a feather light stroke of his thumb across her lips. "Someday Elena, when your relationship with Stefan has run its course, when Jeremy doesn't need you anymore, that will be our time. When you've made enough real mistakes in your life to forgive mine. I can wait."

Tears were welling at the corner of her eyes again. "But I can't. Look at me, Damon – I'm here, despite everything."

"Then let me try again, one more time, to make you forget." His expression was indescribably sad.

"I don't want to forget!" She could feel the panic setting in.

"Hey, it'll be okay," he cooed. "There's a loophole, remember? You'll come back to me eventually. I know you will. Probably sooner than you should."

Elena took his face in her hands and summoned her strength from a well deep inside. "You listen to me, Damon Salvatore. Don't you dare sacrifice this, not again. I love you. I want to fight for us. I don't know how this – how _we_ will work, but we will. We will!"

"Elena -"

"Sure, right now it seems impossible. Right now, you and me, yes, we could hurt _so_ many people, but -"

"No. You couldn't bear to hurt them. Just imagine for half a second telling Stefan you love me, that you choose me. Imagine telling Bonnie. I know you. You don't want that. You couldn't live with yourself."

"But what choice do we have? I love you. Do you hear me? I love you, Damon."

"I hear you." He leaned toward her, placing a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. Her brave, strong Damon – she knew she could lean on him, even when things fell apart around them. She knew that with him, somehow, it would be okay. She looked into his sad, commanding eyes and before she realized it, she couldn't look away. "Right now Stefan is your choice, Elena. You care about me, that's all, but you don't want to choose me. You haven't been to see me. Nothing happened between us here."

Elena blinked, waved, and left.


	4. Chapter 4: Waiting

_(Sorry this took a while. Sometimes you just have to let these things cook. Many thanks as always to my readers - you are wonderful! - and to every one of you who took the time to review. I am a praise junkie, I admit it. Lately, conversations about Damon with afanoftvd, CreepingMuse, RomanticVoltaire, WildYennifer, and tukct81 have helped tremendously. Thanks, ladies! I know I said one more chapter, but I changed my mind. There's still plenty more to come...)_

**Chapter 4: Waiting**

Just leave the bottle.

I'm fine.

Before she died and everything went to shit, here's what I actually thought would happen. This was my _plan_: Elena would come back, again, propelled by her love for me which, yes, improbable as it was still seemed pretty impossible to deny, _back then_. She would throw her tasty little body at me, or beg me to kiss her, or whatever, _again_, and I would tell her all of it, the three times she came to me, what she wanted, what I did, the way she felt, _really_ felt. How I made her forget it all just to save her from what she feared, but now I just couldn't let her go. How we owed it to ourselves to try, or some shit. I would help her through it, all understanding and caring and indulgent but still strong and I wouldn't cave. I would get her there again, to that point where she was ready to believe in us, and then I would – get this, because this is really the crux of the plan here – I would _not _compel her to forget.

That's it.

And we would face the shitstorm of her judgy friends and my heartsick little bro. We would send Jeremy to Timbuktu for his own damn good and we would finally be – I don't know. Happy? Like that's possible. Well, whatever. We would have been something.

But my plan was kind of dependent on her not dying.

Now I have to drink twice as much booze because there's no one to share this watered-down bottle with. And Stefan is over there bringing her raccoons and squirrels and trying to make her feel like she didn't just die.

And apparently that's enough for her.

I wonder if she's told him yet. Because you know she remembers. It's been a week.

The fuck of it all was that phone call. Sure, I was a masochist to ask her to choose, but you'd think, after everything, that that loophole would have made an appearance in a moment like that. Instead, I had to listen to her throw my words back in my face. You know why she could "only think about right now" and how she only _cared _about me but loved Stefan? Because I told her to! Fuck. All those memories were in there somewhere, _I could hear them in there_, but she couldn't quite get to them. That same refrain: maybe if she'd met me first. That was her memory of it, that first night, _before_ Stefan saved her, smashing up against her subconscious. Everything was right under the surface, but too far to reach by herself.

In those last few minutes before I expected to die, if she had come to me instead, not to Stefan, I would have undone it. I would have made her remember. Maybe that's selfish. Okay fine, not maybe. It would have been selfish, but don't you think she would have wanted to remember something like being in love with a guy who's about to die so she could have a fucking _moment_ with him before he kicked? But you can't do that over the phone. No eye contact. I just had to let it all go. I had to let _her_ go.

And then when Ric… Do you have anything older than _you_ back there? Top shelf, my good man. Thaaaat's the one.

And now that she has remembered? Because there's no way she hasn't, it only took Caroline a day. That shit comes flooding back _fast_. So now, where is she? Who knows. Maybe I was wrong about her. If she loved me – hey, even if she didn't – you'd think she would have confronted me at least, all fiercely indignant and self-righteous and adorable. So what if she's angry? She has every right to be angry; I can handle it. Sure, I did it for her, but I did it for me, too. I finally gave in. I could have turned her away. I've said no to her before. I'm the only person in her whole fucking life who does. I could have ended it before it started.

You don't know what it's like to want someone like that. To love someone like that.

When Meredith told me what she'd done… Look, Elena opened her eyes and Stefan was right there, wrapping his coddling, patronizing arms around her, and it was like I wasn't even in the room. He rushed to apologize for letting her die – which is something he and I will definitely discuss as soon as this is all settled and I have time to choose just the right stake. And she took responsibility for dying because she told him to save Matt – which is something else that will have to be discussed because that shit is _not acceptable_. And then it was all hugging and weeping and I'm so sorry, you never wanted this. Stupid, whiny crap. And still, it was like I wasn't in the room. I just stood there, waiting. For _five fucking minutes_. Then I left. No one cared.

And I haven't heard from them since.

I'm fine. There's a lot to go through at Ric's and it's not like I can leave that vampire hunter shit to just anyone. It's good, you know? It's good to be there. Plus I can't go home. I can't watch.

I used to imagine what it would be like when Elena turned. How I would teach her. _What_ I would teach her. She would have made the most incredible vampire, naturally fierce and powerful but at the same time noble, regal. She would have been a fucking queen. And I wanted to be there with her, watching her, helping her the first…. I really thought I was right about her. If it wasn't love, I don't know what the fuck it was.

Doesn't matter. I'm fine.

Hold on, phone. "Stefan. Long time, no having anything to do with me whatsoever."

"I need your help. It's Elena."


	5. Chapter 5: The Strength to Resist

_(A/N: Many thanks for enjoying this story with me. I can finally see the light at the end of the Tunnel of Angst, I promise. Great heaping piles of gratitude to CreepingMuse for beta-ing this chapter, and to afanoftvd and WildYennifer for talking about Damon with me. More chapters to come, because I can't bear to stop telling this story.)  
_

Blankets and a thin pillow still lined the cot from when Alaric stayed in this cell, not so long ago. Elena opened _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ at one point, but closed it quickly against a flood of regret and grief. They joined her ever-increasing guilt and thirst. By the second night, she added to those a dry, aching pain from denying herself the one thing she needed to survive: blood.

It was only a matter of time before Stefan called Damon. Elena longed for him, secretly hoping he would come to her, but resolutely refused to ask. She knew that calling for him would crush Stefan, who was trying so hard to help her. But even without Stefan, she couldn't bring herself to make that request of Damon; she had already asked far too much of him. With her emotions newly heightened, the embarrassment about her forgotten visits was debilitating. And she had a sinking feeling that, even in the face of her declaration of love, Damon's last compulsion really meant he didn't want her anymore. Every time she began to lose her resolve, another reason not to reach out to him came crashing in on her.

But now he was finally here. It wasn't her responsibility anymore. She breathed a raspy, clattering sigh of relief.

She heard their voices at the front door. "Where is she? What happened?" Worry clogged his voice.

Stefan still sounded defeated. She had done that to him. "Downstairs."

"In the _basement_? What is wrong with you?" She heard the dull thud of flesh pressing insistently against bone: Damon pushing Stefan out of the way.

"She went down there herself and she won't leave."

No more footsteps: Damon stopped in the hall. "Why?"

"She almost killed someone-"

A fast, loud rush of breath. "Dammit, Stefan."

"I thought she could handle it-"

"But you knew – you _knew_ she couldn't deal with the guilt if something went wrong. You should have been there-"

"I _was_ there-"

"Then _I_ should have been there."

Silence. Breath. "Why weren't you?"

Footsteps again, on the stairs. Closer. And then, just like that – as if he had always been there, as if no time had passed, as if she was still herself, still alive, and what had been true then was still true – just like that, he was standing in the doorway.

They looked at each other. For Elena, it was almost as satisfying as blood, just seeing him. His expression was guarded, inscrutable. She didn't care. It was him.

She didn't deserve to feel this good.

"Elena."

_This_, she thought, her heart cracking and swelling in her hollow chest. This feeling shouldn't be allowed to people who had made the mistakes she had.

Stefan spoke quietly from just outside the door. "She won't drink. For four days now."

"My God, Stefan. How could you let this happen to her?"

Stefan hadn't done anything wrong. It was her. She was the monster. She wanted to confess, to unload every horrifying detail, to pry them from inside her tortured mind and lay them at Damon's feet.

"Maybe you can reach her." Stefan's footsteps, slow, up the stairs.

Damon's eyes were locked with hers. She wanted to tell him she'd been waiting for him, she missed him, she felt wrong without him. But she couldn't bring herself to speak.

"May I?" he asked, motioning to a space beside her on the cot. He didn't wait for an answer. She closed her eyes when his arm pressed against hers as he sat down. Damon. Like a glass of water in the desert. "You know we have like six extra beds upstairs."

She wanted to laugh, but exhaled something more like a death rattle.

"What are you doing down here?" It was so intimate; sound and breath meant only for her.

It hurt to talk. "I'm not leaving." Good, she thought, it _should_ hurt. Everything should hurt.

"You don't have to." He settled back against the cold brick wall. No matter how long her back was pressed against it, it never got any warmer.

"Damon," she breathed. Buried memories hung unacknowledged between them. Flirting freely, no reason not to. Drawn to him like a moth to flame before she even knew who he was. Loving her enough to let her go. Coming to him over and over behind Stefan's back, begging him for another kiss, aching for… But she was unwilling to face the humiliation of what had happened between them, what she had asked to forget, what he had wanted her to forget even when she was determined to remember. No, she refused to think about that now. "I almost killed someone," she admitted, because after what she had done to that poor stranger, she didn't deserve to feel anything but pain and guilt, oceanic swells of guilt for nearly taking someone's life because she was _thirsty_.

Damon sighed. "_Almost_ killed."

"He's in the hospital."

"Where I'm sure he's getting top of the line Salvatore vino from the bloodjacker herself."

She rolled her eyes. It felt like sandpaper. "More vampires. Just what this town needs."

"Stop fixating. You didn't kill anyone."

"I almost did."

"But you _didn't_, Elena."

"Yet." She knew she could. She would, given the slightest chance.

"You never have to kill anyone, ever. Blood bags -"

The promise of open-ended guilt was too much for her to bear. "No, people need them."

"Yeah. _Us_ people."

"Humans need them. For emergencies, Damon, to keep them alive. No, I could never live with myself. Absolutely not."

"Of course you'd look at it that way." He squirmed on the cot. "Okay. No blood bags. And I'm guessing the cute and furries didn't do it for you."

"No." They only made her hungrier.

"Looks like you'll have to do it old school. Drink just enough, heal them, and compel them to forget it."

She felt Damon's words like a punch in the gut as they echoed soundlessly in the room between them. "As if that would ever solve anything," she murmured, mostly to herself.

"Please, Elena. I know you remember," he groaned, no louder than a heartbeat.

No, she thought. She couldn't face it. Not yet. "Damon, I wanted to kill him. More than anything. Do you understand? Stefan had to drag me away."

She felt him take a slow breath beside her. "It won't be like that again. I can show you -"

"I'm never leaving this cell."

He was silent for a while. "I can bring you someone to snack on, if you really like it here."

"No, please don't!" The familiar panic rose in her, the fear that she would have to fight that grotesque desire.

"Relax. I won't. Not if you don't want me to." He brushed the back of his index finger along her thigh, then gently took her hand. She didn't resist. She knew she should but she couldn't. His skin felt like a glimpse of home. "The first person I killed outright – not counting that girl Stefan found for me, that one goes squarely in his column – but _my_ first kill was a friend of mine."

"Oh, God." She let her head fall against his shoulder.

"It was early and I was alone, overwhelmed. Preemptively defeated. The idea of waiting lifetimes to break Katherine out of that tomb, knowing what I had to do to survive, but without her by my side… It was hard to muster the stamina for eternity. Even making Stefan miserable wasn't enough to get me out of bed after a little while. I had gone days without blood, maybe a week at that point. So the desire to kill – not just feed, but kill – it became too strong to resist. It just gets harder, the longer you go."

She wilted into his lap, laying her heavy head on his thigh. "I know," she said. He brushed his fingers through her hair. His touch was devastatingly gentle. She didn't deserve it. But she needed it.

"His name was William. He was tall, kind of burly. All heart. He was younger, looked up to me. We served together in the war. It was just dumb luck that he was home on leave and I was so damn hungry. But he gave me this big old bear hug, clapped me on the back. My face was pressed right up against his neck. It was -"

"Yeah, I get it," she said through gritted teeth.

"Right." He let his fingers wind through her hair. She shivered. "I didn't want to stop, Elena. I didn't know how. And this guy, this ordinary, not bad guy, with parents and a kid sister, this guy who never did learn how to load a gun so it wouldn't jam – I killed him. My friend."

Elena sighed. She couldn't let him make it okay. It didn't matter that he had done the same thing, or worse. She could never excuse herself almost killing that man. It wasn't okay. It would never, ever be okay.

"You have to have blood, Elena. It's the only way."

"I can't do it, Damon. I won't."

"You'll learn to stop before they die. As long as you're not desperate, you can control it. I'll teach you. Trust me."

"I don't deserve to live."

"Of course you do." He stroked her hair, lost in thought. "You won't drink from a blood bag, you don't trust yourself with a person. You are so stubborn." He pulled her up to look into her eyes, slipped his hand lightly along her jaw, and drew her toward his lips. She didn't have the will to stop him. "Elena." Her name in his voice lit every part of her on fire. She felt like a glowing, crackling ember as the veins snaked their way down her cheeks.

She tried to cover her face. "I'm sorry."

"No." His thumb brushed lightly over the veins under her eye. "You're okay. I've got you." He held her chin gently in his other hand and placed a light kiss on her dry lips. But for her, it wasn't nearly enough. Her desire for him, for blood, for the kill all mixed together and became a horrible swirl of desperation that nothing could satisfy – nothing she would allow herself anyway. She could feel the rasp of drying bones and tendons inside her arms as she pulled him close, kissing him back in spite of herself, in spite of her fear that in the end he hadn't loved her the way she loved him, but she didn't care, if she could have crawled inside of him she would have. She wanted to devour him.

Her fangs kept piercing his tongue. The taste of blood threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to drink, now. She had to have blood. She pulled away, hiding her face against his neck.

"Hey, hey," he whispered into her hair. "It's okay."

She looked into his eyes, willing him to save himself from her. "You have to get out of here, or I'm gonna -"

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"You don't understand." Was it her desire for him, or for his blood? She couldn't separate them. Every second her hunger threatened to overtake her willpower. Her gaze darted to his long, pale neck.

"Elena? What are you doing?"

She was too raw, too desperately thirsty, too weak to hide it from him. She leaned forward, fangs itching to puncture. "Maybe I could…"

He tilted his head, putting it together, eyes capturing hers again. Only a moment of hesitation, and then it made perfect sense. "Drink."

Could she? God, she needed to. "Damon, it's crazy."

"I don't think so. I mean, I wouldn't recommend it as a long term solution, but for now? Until you trust yourself? Let me do this for you."

"What, be my blood bag?"

"Be the one who keeps you alive."

Elena didn't have the strength to resist; it was beyond her power to stop it. She sighed with deep relief as she sank her fangs into his neck. She felt him relax, his head falling back as she sucked at the wounds she made in his skin. His blood was cool, still – nothing like the boiling fountain of fear and life pouring from that anonymous stranger. But it was precisely what she needed.

He cradled her head against his neck and for the first time since the water filled her lungs, she felt a ray of hope.


	6. Chapter 6: Different

_(A/N: This chapter took forever! It fought me the whole way. This version here is the third, because the first two just didn't work. Thanks to CreepingMuse, WildYennifer, and afanoftvd for encouragement along the way, and to all of you who waited patiently. Credit also goes to CM for my new favorite curse, which you may recognize from _Pursuit_ – and if you haven't read it, go read it and the rest of her stuff, and everything by WildYennifer and afanoftvd too, because these ladies are marvelous writers.)_

You don't have to tell me how weird that was. Elena drained me like a Capri Sun. All I can say is, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Or the only idea. I mean, I wasn't about to let her vampire jerky herself. And to be honest, it felt okay. (Fine. It felt infuckingcredible. Happy?)

But our little solution just put off the inevitable. When I went back to Ric's late that night (by way of several shady alleys for much needed refilling), she was still scared to feed. She still hadn't said a single word about us – yes _us_, shut up. And she was still evidently with Stefan because when I showed up in the morning he was sleeping beside her on that motherfucking cot.

Because I never learn with this girl, I was all bright eyed and bushy tailed the next morning, bounding down the basement stairs like a giant idiot, but luckily the sound woke her up, just barely but enough that she had time at least to register a look of sheepish apology when I walked in on them. What did I expect? Why would anything have changed? Of course we would now pretend that nothing had happened between us. I turned around and walked right back up the stairs because fuck it, I may not be able to get over her but I could damn well stop subjecting myself to this circus of crap. I poured myself a bag of O+ and wiped down the kitchen counters while I tried to stop seeing his hand on her breast, just lying over it like a rug on a floor, her eyes blazing with embarrassment at mine.

And then there she was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, tell-tale sex tangles in the back of her hair, haunted angsty face promising a painful conversation I refused to have with her because history has proven without a shadow of a doubt that these things always hurt more than they help. Hurt me, anyway.

"Ready to go?" I asked, intercepting the pain tornado with an agenda that was actually important. "Not Killing 101."

"We need to talk."

I contemplated several options in that moment. Leaving town. Throwing my glass across the room – a satisfying blood splatter just to the side of her head. Pressing her into the doorjamb. But what came out was, "have you told Stefan yet?"

"No."

Of course she hadn't. See? Done. "Let's go."

She planted her feet, rubbed her arm with tense fingers, shook her head. "Damon, I'm not ready to go out there." She can be stubborn.

So can I. "The fuck you aren't."

"I want to talk about what happened, before." She took a step toward me.

Like prey, I backed away from her. God fuck it, I needed boundaries. "I will teach you to feed without killing people because apparently Stefan can't. That's it. Take it or leave it."

We exchanged meaningful looks. It was face tennis. I won.

* * *

I turned the music up too loud to talk and drove her to the old Lockwood property. The woods out there are generally secluded but you can always count on one or two joggers in the morning. We parked on the road and walked in brittle silence toward the river.

I wanted to reach out and comb my fingers through her hair, or shave her damned head, just to get rid of those tangles. But I forced myself to shut out the echo of those dick-tugging sounds I knew she made with him because she made them with me, and focus instead on teaching Elena to be a real vampire. Lesson one: find a person to eat.

"Stop and breathe. Do you smell her?" There was a woman coming toward us, just out of sight. She'd been running long enough to be flushed and sweating. The fresh smell of exertion wafted toward us on the morning breeze.

"Damon, I just want to -"

"Focus. Do you?"

"Yeah." Elena's chest lifted with breath, her eyelids drifted closed, and it might have been stunningly beautiful but I didn't notice.

Lesson two: do it right.

"Stand in her way. Be calm; don't scare her. Tell her not to be afraid. Drink slowly; no more than five seconds. Lick your lips so she can't see the blood. Then I'll show you how to compel her to forget."

Fuck. Compel her to forget. My indelicately chosen words echoed between us. She gave me a look that could melt concrete, but then the jogger was close and Elena squared her shoulders to face her. I stood just behind her, ready to fix everything if it all went to shit, which we both knew was more likely than not.

"Excuse me," Elena said, half statement, half question.

"Yeah?" The jogger was out of breath, blood pumping, a bouncy pop beat in her earbuds.

"Don't move; don't be afraid." The jogger eased and then, though I couldn't see Elena's face, I felt her panic set in, saw her shoulders rise with her fear. She whirled around at me. "No, no, this is wrong, I can't, Damon -"

With one hand I laced my fingers in her hair and held the jogger's shoulder with the other, to keep them both steady. "You _can_. Afterward, if you want, you can heal her. You can make her feel better than she's ever felt, make her feel like a million bucks, give her the strength and the will to run a damn marathon."

"I'd love to run a marathon," the woman crooned.

"See? You can help her, and she'll help you to not die, and everyone will live happily ever after."

She began to shake her head and I just couldn't stand it.

"Elena," I whispered, unable to give my voice any strength at all, "you've got to do this or you won't make it. Please."

I guided her face to the jogger's neck and, registering a strained combination of darkness and hope, Elena let me.

There was no frenzy, no gash or desperation. You know what it was like? It was like those commercials where someone drinks a Coke or a Gatorade and they are so thirsty, like they've been thirsty their entire life, they're sweating and they're holding a skateboard or a basketball and none of that is really important because then they just tilt their head back and pour that liquid down, just take it in, and this blessed fucking calm fills them at the same time.

That was Elena taking her first real drink.

And without my direction, she pricked her finger on a fang and held it to the woman's mouth, offering, not insisting, and the woman licked it because there was something so warm and regal in Elena that what reason could she possibly have to turn her down? She squeezed the woman's shoulder reassuringly. "You are strong and fast," she said. "Tomorrow you'll start training for a marathon. But you won't remember what happened here, or us."

The jogger took a step back, blinked, and waved at us as she started running along the path again, much faster and more determined than before.

Elena was still, her expression inscrutable. "You did it," I said to the air, because I needed to say it more than she needed to hear it.

* * *

About halfway back to the car, she went right back to talking about exactly the thing I thought I had earned the privilege of ignoring. "I haven't told Stefan about us yet because I'm not sure what, or how, to tell him," she said.

And just like that, I was thrown back into the crazy. _Us_. A promising word, if I was willing to let myself go down that very dark, painful road of certain rejection. Or I could be hedgy and a jerk. Guess which one I chose? "Depends on what you want," I grumbled, totally unhelpful.

"I owe him the truth."

It wasn't really a response about What the Fuck She Wanted and so yes, I lashed out because have you met me? "Stefan, I fucked your brother and asked him to make me forget it. Don't be mad. Wanna smooch?"

She stopped, slicing right through my crap. "No. That's not it at all."

I squinted at her because, under my hedgy bullshit, I was swallowing too much hope to talk.

"It's this: Stefan, listen. Before I died I realized, several times actually, that I had fallen in love with Damon. It was simply true and I couldn't make it not be true."

It sounded like she'd been practicing. _Was true, _not_ is. _But also, _in love with_. So much to analyze; so many ways to break my own heart. I willed myself not to fuck up the conversation for five minutes, against my better judgment.

She continued. "I didn't remember because he compelled me to forget. But I remember now."

I braced myself for impact.

"I met him first, before the accident, but he erased that memory because he didn't want anyone to know he was in town. Stefan, it was magical. I was drawn to him instantly. If we had talked even a few minutes longer I would have kissed him right there on the road." She held my gaze. "It was powerful, magnetic. Immediate."

I nodded. It was.

"Last year, he told me he loved me and he made me forget that too. He said he didn't deserve me, but you did. He brought me back my necklace and before he put it around my neck he told me he loved me and then just sort of gave me to you. But it didn't work, Stefan."

"It didn't?" Man, I was in it. Right there with her. I was both of us.

"No, because you left. And yes it was the right thing to do and you saved Damon, thank God you saved him, but there was something between us and it just grew and grew because you weren't there to prevent it. And I didn't want to admit it but you were right. I felt something for him from the very beginning. And I can't stop it."

"You can't?" Present fucking tense.

"I can't." In that split second there was a silent, palpable shift and she was talking to me, not him. "It doesn't matter what I _thought_ I was doing when I came to you. Each time, whether you let me say it or not, I realized I loved you, Damon. Even though I was scared, I think I was ready for you."

"But you slept with Stefan last night." Hard to forget his hand on her breast, her tangled hair – they were etched into the surface of my mind.

She shook her head. "I haven't had sex with Stefan since I turned. There was no way, not after the memories came rushing back. But after you left last night, we were both on edge. Me less than him, thanks to you." Her lips quivered against a stifled smile. "He was hovering and it was driving me nuts. I could hear him on the stairs. I tried to ignore him because I knew he was just trying to protect me from myself. I tossed and turned all night, listening to him inch closer and closer to the door. Finally this morning he came inside and lay down next to me. It was the first sleep either of us got."

"Because you love him." We both knew it; she didn't have to agree out loud.

Her face was sad and so lovely it actually hurt. "It's not the same, not anymore, and he knows it too. I owe him the truth, but that's all I can give him. The rest of me belongs to you."

The sun was still high, still burning off the cloud cover. The river was still moving at its same slow pace, waterlogged branches still catching on rocks along the bank. That same frog whose chirping I had at first mistook for a bird's had not yet fallen silent. The air was still morning fresh, a faint scent of grass now only slightly fainter.

But everything was different now.

This was my cue. This is the moment when a guy who was not such a mess would have gathered her up in his arms, told her how he had always been hers, and kissed her like his life depended on it. But I am not that guy. I am the guy who, it turns out, was totally unprepared to hear this, even after everything that had happened. Yeah. This revelation was impossible to process. I could understand getting jerked around, being second choice, satisfying needs, keeping the girl alive just to have her run back to It's-Always-Going-To-Be Stefan. This new order completely caught me up short. Faced with the admission of a lifetime, delivered by rose-laden mermaids riding fucking sea unicorns, I could not formulate words. Me, speechless. Fuck.

And that gave her an opening to turn the crazy _way_ up.

"Even if you don't want me anymore."

Totally incomprehensible, the things that she says sometimes.

"You've pulled away. Or I pushed you too far. You don't have to say it. I put you through hell and a man can only take so much. I won't lie: I'm devastated, but it's not your responsibility. Just because I can't be with Stefan doesn't mean I can expect you to be with me."

She couldn't have been more wrong about me. I just had to unfreeze and I could tell her so. Her lips, my lips. Even one muscle, to start.

She smiled at me sadly. "This sucks. Now that forgetting would be really good for both of us, you can't compel me anymore."

I licked my lips. It was the most I could accomplish. I felt like I was drowning.

She was flustered, stopped looking at me. "Look, I have to go talk to Stefan. I've waited too long. I just have to do it and get on with my life."

In a flash, she was gone. Just like that, she was getting on with her life and I had lost her.


	7. Chapter 7: Right

_(A/N: I want to thank each one of you who has followed this story. Grazie mille to those of you who have been kind enough to list it (or me!) among your favorites. Those of you who review it – well, that makes my day, and it makes me better, too, so giant heaping helpings of thanks to you. This here is the last chapter of this story, but I've got a whole new fic on deck, ready to go in a day or two, so hit the author alert if you haven't already._

_Finally, special thanks to **CreepingMuse**, who beta'd this chapter and told me the truth. She is the queen of awesomeness.)_

Fuck this. I'm hijacking the story.

I know that technically it's Elena's turn for a chapter but I am jumping the line, because listen: I was not okay with how this shit was turning out. I needed to talk. To her.

I admit that it took me a couple of hours pacing Ric's floor to a high sheen before I couldn't stand my own excuses any longer. What was my problem? How could I have convinced myself that anything but this was true: if there was any girl in the world I was meant to be with, it was Elena. I knew it in my bones. Still do.

I screeched by the boarding house but her car wasn't there and I couldn't bear to see Stefan immediately post-break-up, not with what I intended to do hanging between him and me. Next stop, Casa de Gilbert. I drove toward it: long porch full of memories, nosy neighbor, and right out front, Elena's car. Bingo.

Impatient, I took the front stoop in two giant strides and opened the door without knocking. Jeremy was blithely absorbed in a video game, no concern for the powder keg of baby vampire hunger in the house with him. "Hey dude," he called without eye contact.

I skipped right past the 'dude' and the stupid. "Elena upstairs?"

"Shower."

Oh God.

I took the stairs to her bedroom just as fast, maybe hitting four of them on the way. Look at me, counting stairs when there was love to be declared. I was such a mess.

She was: she was in the shower. I don't know why, but it seemed so crazy that, at this huge moment in our lives, this major turning point for me anyway, she would be in the fucking shower. What could I do? I waited. I paced, (I pictured her dripping wet, strewn with bubbles,) I contemplated rifling through her underwear drawer, I scrutinized the incomprehensible horse 'art' on her wall, I cursed the invention of conditioner. I stared at her journal but did not read it. And when I felt the inevitable impulse to bolt, I sat down on her bed and grabbed onto the comforter with both fists.

She came out in a long brown t-shirt. Well, long for a shirt, anyway. Way too short to ever be called anything but a shirt. I mean, far be it from me to complain. It was a very good shirt. Honestly, this was about how clear my head was. I was debating whether or not a shirt could be called a shirt. What this girl can do to me, I swear.

"Damon. Seriously?" Her voice was light and wobbly and made of hope. I think.

And at this point I realized that a script would have been helpful, or some forethought, something more than this desperate need to tell her… something. To fight for… something. I had figured out what I had to do during those six hundred (or so) turns around Ric's living room, but I felt only slightly more articulate than I had in the woods.

I stood up to face her, bracing myself against my penchant for self-sabotage which, yes I have noticed that thank you very much. "Elena." It was a good start. That is indeed who was standing there, but that wasn't going to be enough. _Man up, Salvatore_. "Elena, you… you were wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"You were wrong about me. I didn't give up on you."

She peered at me, suspicious, and she was right to be. How could I be trusted with her heart? I couldn't be. I didn't deserve her, after the way I had – _stop it_.

"I was waiting for you," I tried to explain, "when I should have been fighting for you." She opened her mouth to talk but then shut it again. _Good_, I thought. _I have so fucking much to say. Don't know what it is, but it's in there._ "It was so hard, Elena, impossible to believe that you felt… how you felt."

"That I love you?"

My heart swelled like a damn balloon. God, this girl. "Yes," I sighed, a dumb grin forcing its way past what little reserve I still clung to.

"But you were right to make me forget, if only to save yourself more pain," she protested. "I can't do this to you anymore, Damon. I always hurt you. Having me in your life hurts you." She was on the verge of tears, again.

I took a short step closer, found the familiar spots on each side of her face where my palms belong. "No, Elena. I'm never going to stop loving you. We were meant for each other. We were _right_, from the very beginning."

One tear, at the corner of her eye. "But -"

"It should have been us then, and it should be us now. I _want_ us. I want _you_." She appeared ready to argue with me but her timing was terrible. It was the wrong time to argue and absolutely the right time to kiss her like my life depended on it, which it did. So I did.

For a moment her body was stiff, or maybe startled is a better word, but I kept kissing her, tasting those lips, thinking of all the times I had wished I could be doing this very thing, and soon, so soon that the lag barely registered but of course I noticed, she was kissing me back. She ran her fingers through my hair, tugging me down. I shivered. She wanted me, it was right, and we weren't doomed. I smiled, my entire self just smiled as I squeezed her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist, and she felt it and smiled too.

Under that ludicrous shirt her skin was still moist from the shower, and so warm. I licked along her neck as I dragged the shirt up over her breasts, pulling away only for the split second it took to get the thing over her head, and then my lips and her skin were back together and I was pressing her back on the bed, or maybe she was tugging me. What did it matter? We were on her bed and she was unbuttoning my shirt.

That's right, Elena was unbuttoning my shirt. Sometimes these things just hit you. It took her a while because I was more invested in getting her panties off than in waiting for her, but eventually we both succeeded and let me tell you, I should have done this a long time ago. Yes, there was that one time but this, this was the right way to go about making love to Elena. She knelt to undo my jeans and although I wanted to get rid of them and maybe never wear pants again because at moments like this they get in the way and I wanted a million more moments like this… anyway, I let her take them off of me, just watched her, an adorable, sexy smirk on her adorable face, and when the offending clothes were gone she slowly sank herself down onto me. And slow was perfect.

My hands rested on her hips as she rocked them gently, like she couldn't help it. I love how her hips open out from her small waist like an upside down flower. Nothing was stopping me from gazing at her, and she was gazing at me the same way because we were hungry for the sight of each other's eyes and lips and bodies. It was almost as satisfying as kissing and in some ways more, because this is something we had never done and she is absolutely stunning to watch. She ran her trembling hand – trembling not from fear, or hesitation, but from what I'm pretty sure was ecstatic joy because it was making me tremble too – she ran it up the center line of my chest, up along the side of my neck and into my hair, her body rubbing and pressing against mine as she opened her lips over my mouth. It was so much goodness, it was hard to take. I enfolded her in my arms, groaning with the delicious sensation of needing and getting at the same time.

We tried to make it last, this second time that was really the first time. We both did. But nothing in the history of the world has ever felt as good as being inside her, surrounded by her scent and her wet hair and her love and her hands clutching at my shoulders. Even slowing her down didn't stop it from barreling toward us. She looked right in my eyes, all devotion and surprise, and she whispered my name. My name on her lips, the hitch in her voice – to this day, it's like a switch in my body and I'm on fire. And I breathed her name because it was the cherry on top of this amazing feeling to somehow confirm for myself that _yes, Elena_. And she seemed to like hearing it – she always does – because she sighed this wisp of a moan and then it was here and we came together, just like that, gazing into each other's eyes.

The end.


End file.
